Let One Drop Break Us
by LazyWriterGirl
Summary: They're done. They're done and nothing can change it, so it's best that they move on. Quinn breaks up with Rachel, but is it what will help them? One-shot, Implied Quinn X ? Rated T for harsh language. For Yssa.


**So I've been listening to Battlefield on loop and I just can't stop crying and somehow wrote this...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song, and I don't own the characters. All I own is this story, and all the tears that I shed during its creation.**

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"You can't do this." It hurts, hearing her tell me that I can't… can't love her, can't be with her, can't do that, _can't do this_. It hurts, but this is my life, and I answer to myself, not to Rachel Berry. Not anymore. My phone rings, but that's not important at the moment.

"I don't really think that you're in a position to tell me what I can and cannot do, Rachel Barbra Berry."

"Quinn, why are you being so hurtful?" She's crying, by the sounds of it, and it's the type of crying that not even Finn, who dated her for two years and knew her so well, was aware of. This is something that Rachel has reserved entirely for me. The desperate, heaving gasps and shuddering breaths coupled with the watery eyes; that's practically patented Rachel-guilting-Quinn-into-apologizing. I know that it may seem that I am a monster, but I savour the sound of her crying echoing throughout the empty loft. A few months ago, I may have been swayed into compassion by her display, but now… now I feel nothing.

"You hurt me first, Rachel, never forget that," I say, and though it sounds childish, my words hold the inescapable ring of truth. She hurt me first and all that I've done is try to move on.

"Why her? _Why? _You know that everybody says that you're just using her because you miss me. They say that she's just a replacement. A substitute. You can't do this, Quinn," she repeats, but I'm too lost in the blistering cold of my building anger to acknowledge the warmth that spreads through me whenever Rachel says my name.

"Don't you _dare_, Rachel. Don't you dare make the mistake of insulting her in front of me. She did more than replace you, Rachel, at least for me. She surpasses even you." I wonder briefly if Rachel can tell that I'm a liar; nobody could ever surpass Rachel in my eyes. Still, the words have their desired effect and Rachel is looking at me with her big brown eyes, red and puffy at the corners but still so devastatingly beautiful. Her eyebrows draw together slowly and I know that she has seen through my lie.

"You are a _liar_, Quinn. We both know that you love me, not her," she says, and she sounds so fucking cocky that I, being ever the spiteful, vindictive harpy, aim to take her down a peg.

"You can say that all that you want, Rachel, but the fact is, is that after we're done here I'm going to get into my car, where she's waiting for me. I'm going to drive home with her, and then we're going to talk about this. How you and I are completely, utterly over. And then I'm not going to fuck her, I'm going to make love to her and the best part about that is that I'll be doing it with her and not with you." I laugh, and it comes out much more harshly than I'd anticipated. There is no turning back now; I have turned the page on our chapter, and all that Rachel can do now is find her own way through the pages. My phone rings again.

"You don't mean that, Quinn. You may drive home with her, and tell her that it's her you love, but you'll _fuck_ her and think of me." I don't know why Rachel's certainty is so frustrating, but I for one will not back away from this challenge she's giving me.

"You give too much credit to yourself and too little to her," I say simply, grabbing for the handle of my suitcase. "Goodbye, Rachel." I walk slowly through the loft, deliberately. Santana and Kurt will know that I've gone as soon as they arrive. Doubtless there will be phone calls and texts and midnight appearances at my new apartment.

Getting ready to open the heavy metal door, I'm mildly surprised when a light hand presses down on my own. I hold my breath, not knowing what it is that's holding me back. "Don't go. Quinn, we can fix this. Look, I'm sorry, okay, but you know sometimes I get a little carried away and—

"No, Rachel, this was your last fucking chance and you blew it. You _knew_ you couldn't afford to fuck up again but you did and you did it to get ahead in your goddamned career!" I promised myself that I would play things coolly, passive-aggressive and cuttingly vicious words, but something about Rachel never allows me to act the way I want to.

"You're just going to throw everything away?" Her eyes are dangerously close to spilling over, but Rachel must be using every ounce of her dramatic Broadway flair to keep that from happening; the water in her eyes is practically gravity-defiant.

"I don't need to do anything; you took care of this rubbish all your own, didn't you?"

"It was a mistake! Don't pretend that you're perfect, Quinn! Let me fix this," she says, holding my hand over the door more tightly. "Let me fix us."

"You can't fix it if it doesn't exist, Rachel. There is no us." That's when Rachel's resolve cracks and breaks away, and her tears begin to make little sounds as they hit the cold, hard linoleum of the loft floor. This is when I make my exit. I know as soon as my feet begin to carry me out of the stupid little Bushwick loft that I'm making a mistake. Still, I am Quinn Fabray and I have made my choice. Rachel doesn't follow me, probably realizing that there is no way to solve this problem. We both knew that this was coming; it just took far too long to realize that the lies we were living were bound to destroy us. And now they had. I manage to keep everything together as I slide into the driver's seat at my car, turning to the brunette beside me.

"Is everything alright, Quinn?" Her voice is oddly soft despite it being broad daylight, and I force a nod, putting the car in gear and preparing to drive off. I feel a soft hand cover my own and marvel at how different it feels from Rachel's. "May I turn on the radio?"

"Of course," I say, because it's such a simple request that I cannot see any reason to refuse. Slim fingers work the various buttons and knobs for the perfect station and volume, and when that's done, I hear the beautiful strains of music from both the radio and her throat.

_You and I_

_We have to let each other go_

_We keep holding on but we both know_

_What seemed like a good idea's turned into a battlefield_

How fucking spot on. How fucking depressing. Still...

Her voice is different from Rachel's, and perhaps not as special, but good enough. A different kind of special, I decide, just not one that I'm sure I can grow to love the same way as I have loved Rachel.

This goes on for a good ten minutes, my companion not losing interest in the radio and me, struggling to keep my eyes clear and on the road. I must not be doing a very good job, because soon enough her voice, now firm, tells me to pull over. I do as she says, putting the car in park, knowing what's coming. "Please, Quinn, let me drive." I look at her, and her blue, blue eyes are so understanding, so very hurt – and she does have a right to feel such hurt, I know, as it was my fault to begin with – and I know that I can no longer hold onto my strength alone. The tears are damning, shamefully strong in the way that they escape from my eyes; uncontrollable.

She's quick to unbuckle her seatbelt and mine, holding me as close as the configuration of my car will allow. Her perfume, sweet and light, is so very different from Rachel's heavier, more dramatic scent. I miss the decadence of it. I miss Rachel, but I have made my choice and to turn back now would just be… pathetic. "We seemed like a good idea, really, we did," I say.

"Shh, shh. I know."

"She wanted me to be strong for both of us but I couldn't…but we just…" I'm trying to find words to supplement my thoughts but the only things I can think to say are simple. They wouldn't be adequate to capture the message. I cry into light brown hair, feeling those blue eyes attempt to soothe me with their sweetness.

"Shh…you seemed like a good idea. You needn't say anymore." She doesn't say it, but I know that she worries the same for us.

"We seemed like a good idea."

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**Now back to the happy! Well, I dunno. I apologize if I was out of depth for this, sometimes I write really strong feels without wanting to, and other times I'm off the mark when the feels should be real. Hope you enjoyed it anyway, ne?**

**Please follow me cruzythekat on twitter if you're not already! I look forward to talking to people!**

**Also if you're on Facebook and enjoy reading movie reviews (in English AND/OR French) please like my friend's page Ashley Moniz's Movie Reviews. The guy's pretty good at what he does.**

**Sorry for this Author's Note, I get that it may shatter the mood.**

**As always, all of my love and thank you for reading!**

**~ Kay ~**


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